


No Name on the Bullet

by Macx



Category: Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2011-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a bust Egon is hit by stray bullet from a cop who only meant to shoot the ghost...</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Name on the Bullet

**Author's Note:**

> originally written in the mid-nineties

                Ecto–One pulled up at the curb and the four Ghostbusters got out.  While one of them walked toward the back of the car and opened the back door, the others looked around.  A uniformed policeman came over to them.

                “My name’s Frank Townsend.  I called you.”

                “Dr. Peter Venkman,” the dark–haired man in the brown jumpsuit greeted him and shook his hand.  “What’s up?”

                “Three people reported a ghost in the building over there.”  The officer indicated a tall building, apparently solely used for offices.  “We evacuated most of the floors except for one or two, where evacuation is still under way.”

                “What kind of ghost is it?” Ray Stantz asked eagerly.  “Free roaming vapor?  Full torso apparition?  Demonic entity?”

                Townsend looked confused.  “Ehm, well, I didn’t see it, you know, but I heard that it was large and misty and blue.”

                The improper description of their victim didn’t dampen Ray’s enthusiasm.  He looked at the office building with delight.

                “It’s at least a class–5,” a blond man said, looking up from a small device the Ghostbusters called a PKE  meter.

                “Great!” Ray cried.

                Peter pulled a face.  “I love it,” he said with a lot less enthusiasm and a sour look on his face.

                “Okay, guys, here are the packs,” the last of the four, Winston Zeddmore, called.  The other three men went over and shrugged into the heavy proton packs, checking the rifles.

                “How many people are still inside?” Egon wanted to know from Townsend.

                “About ten or more.  Four of our officers are inside, too, trying to get them all out safely.”

                Spengler nodded.  “We’ll watch out for them.”

                “Hope they watch out for us,” Peter muttered.

 

***

 

                The foyer of the office building was empty and their steps echoed through the marble covered hall.  A large reception desk was directly in front of them.  When Winston had a look behind the desk to check for the ghost or someone hiding there he discovered a row of monitors, showing pictures of the various floors.

                “Cameras on all floors,” he said.  “Everything’s empty as far as I can see, except for floor 21.”  There was a crowd of people moving toward the staircase, accompanied by two police officers who were carefully watching out for a possible ghost attack.

                “Okay, we split up,” Egon decided, his eyes still pinned on the PKE  meter.  Then he looked up.  “Ray, you and Winston take the top floors and work down.  Peter and I will do it the other way around.  We meet in the middle.”

                Ray nodded his affirmative and he and Winston walked off toward one of the two staircases.  Egon motioned Peter to follow him to the second staircase.

 

***

 

                After the tenth floor Peter was ready to keel over; he was completely exhausted from running across the floors, climbing another staircase and running across another floor.  Egon showed no effect of the running and climbing whatsoever.  His nose was glued to the display screen of the PKE  meter and from time to time he said something like ‘left’ or ‘just one more floor’.

                “This is it,” the blond physicist announced when they went through the door to the eleventh floor.

                “You said that three floors ago,” Peter moaned, leaning against the wall and wiping sweat from his brow.

                “This time I’m positive.”

                “Two floors ago,” the dark–haired man muttered.

                Egon gave him a withering look and stalked off to the right, following the corridor.  Venkman sighed and followed him.  They came as far as a dozen or more steps before a nerve–bending howl made them start and seek cover.  A cloud–like, bluish ghost popped through the wall and charged.  Peter fired his thrower and scorched more than half of the opposite wall, while Egon had hit the deck and now rolled around to fire.  The ghost disappeared again and seconds later all that remained of the attack was a smoking wall and two startled Ghostbusters.

                “Where’d it go?” Peter asked.

                “Staircase,” was the brisk answer and the two men took off toward the staircase.

                “Up or down?”

                “Down,” Egon answered and was the first to go.  The psychologist followed and started to count floors again.  This time it was the other way round as they hurried downstairs.  Peter pulled out his walkie–talkie.

                “Ray?  Winston?  We saw it.  It’s on its way down.  We’re right behind it.”

                “Copy,” Winston replied.  “We’re on our way.  Leave something for us, okay?”

                “Roger that, buddy.”  Peter stowed the walkie–talkie again.

                They had arrived on the sixth floor when he ghost materialized again.  It went straight through the wall and the Ghostbusters followed.  They chased the specter through the corridor, proton rifles firing away.  Later, Peter was never able to precisely recount the incidents that happened next.  One of the doors farther down the corridor opened and he saw a uniformed policeman step out, his weapon in one hand.  The ghost was soaring toward the officer, howling and roaring at its best.  The two Ghostbusters were following it on its non–existent heels, Egon in front.

                The police officer turned abruptly when he heard the noise, aimed his weapon at the specter and then there was the loud, echoing sound of a shot being fired.  At exactly the same moment the door of the other staircase opened and Ray and Winston came out.  Peter, a few feet left of Egon, was firing at the ghost, his concentration fully on the job, but his lonely proton stream was too weak to hold the class–five and it freed itself from the confinement stream.  Before he could take aim again he heard Ray’s gasp.

                The psychologist turned around and paled dramatically.  “Egon!”  The thrower fell out of his hands and hit the floor with a soft ‘klonk’.

                The blond man just stood there, looking utterly surprised, his blue eyes wide open as he stared at the red stain on his stomach.  It was getting larger and larger every second.  One hand clutched the stain and blood was seeping through his fingers.  Like in slow–motion, Egon fell to the floor, his knees giving way as his brain finally decided what to do next.  Peter was at his friend’s side in a flash, the ghost completely forgotten.  “Oh, God, Egon!” he whispered, unaware of Ray and Winston coming over, too.  He didn’t know what to do.

                Egon’s face was pale and sweat was starting to form on his forehead, and his eyes were blurred and he stared at Peter in non–comprehension.  The dark–haired man got the proton pack off his friend’s back and straightened him on the floor.  Then he took the cold hand and tried to take it away from the wound.  Egon winced and a small moan escaped his lips.  Peter bit his lip as he saw the wet stain that was getting larger by the minute.  The blond man’s face was as white as chalk.

                “We have to stop the flow of blood.”  Winston’s calm voice floated over to him and another pair of hands helped the dark–haired Ghostbuster unzip the light blue jumpsuit.  Then the black man took a piece of cloth he had gotten from somewhere and pressed it down on the wound.  Egon moaned again and his eyes closed, his body going limp.

                “Egon?” Peter asked, feeling utterly helpless.  No answer.  “Egon!”  Panic rose inside the dark–haired psychologist and he turned to Winston, his green eyes wide.

                The older man searched for a pulse, his lips a thin line.  He relaxed only slightly when he found the weak, but still–existent pulse.  “Pulse’s there,” he told his colleague.  “He’s unconscious.”

                “I’ve called the paramedics,” Ray reported, his face as pale as Egon’s, his brown eyes large and fearful.  “They were outside in case one of the evacuees got hurt.”

                _One of the evacuees_ , echoed through Peter’s mind and he felt cold anger rise inside of him.  His eyes were fixed on his blond friend.  He didn’t want to accept what had happened.  Egon had gotten shot!  Shot....  The psychologist looked around and discovered a uniformed policeman standing just a few feet left of them, eyes wide with what he immediately realized as guilt and disbelief.  It didn’t take Venkman long to figure out what had taken place.

                “You!”  He stood up and whirled round to the officer.  “You shot him!”

                “I didn’t....” the man started.  He was young, much younger than Peter; in fact, he was just a kid.  Curly, light brown hair topped a wiry frame and large, dark eyes stared at the psychologist.

                “You shot my friend!” Peter accused hotly.

                The officer shrank back under the irate glare of the emerald eyes and shook his head in denial.  “I didn’t see him!  Honestly!”

                “Didn’t see him?  Are you blind?  He was only a few feet away from you!”

                “There ... there was this ghost and it attacked me ... and I....”

                “And you shot my friend!” Peter snapped.  “You shot him!  Damnit!”

                A hand came to rest on his shoulder, pulling him slightly back.  He whirled around again, coming face to face with Winston.  “Peter, that’s enough,” the black man said calmly.

                Peter stared at him, his anger burning brightly inside of him, showing in his stance and cold eyes.  “He shot Egon,” he hissed.

                “Let’s sort this out later, okay?  Right now it’s Egon who needs us.”

                The mention of the blond man brought Peter back to the immediate problem and he bit his lip, turning back to Egon and Ray, who was sitting at his side, keeping pressure on the wound that still bled freely.  The auburn–haired occultist looked utterly lost and frightened.  The sight hit home with Peter and he pulled himself together.

                “You’re right,” he whispered, walking over to his two friends, leaving the police officer alone again.

                “I ... I didn’t mean to....” the man stuttered, gesturing helplessly.

                “I’m sure of that, man,” Winston said with a forced smile.  “Just keep out of Peter’s way until the paramedics are here, okay?”

                Only minutes later the floor swarmed with paramedics and police.  Winston saw how the young officer was questioned by two colleagues and how he tried to explain what had happened, while the paramedics carried Egon out and down the stairs.  Peter and Ray followed closely, in turn followed by Winston who was carrying Egon’s pack.

                The drive to the hospital seemed to take hours.  Winston steered Ecto–1 after the ambulance, both cars clearing their way with sirens and emergency lights on.  Ray was going with him in Ecto while Peter had decided to stay with Egon; none of them had objected to that decision.

                Egon was wheeled into the emergency unit of the hospital about twenty minutes later and Peter was intent on following him, but a matronly, heavily built nurse barred his way.

                “You have to wait outside, please,” she said, in a kindly, but authoritative voice.

                Peter gave her a cold, angry look, trying to stare her down, but Nurse Ruth Felder had seen her share of agitated relatives and close friends.  Peter Venkman was no–one to intimidate her.

                “The waiting room is down this corridor,” she continued unpreturbed.  “Third door, left hand side.”

                “That’s my friend in there,” Peter hissed, curling his hands into fists; he intended to stay with Egon, no matter what.

                “And that’s an emergency unit where only nurses and doctors have the permission to enter.  I don’t think you qualify for the first and....”

                “I am a doctor,” the psychologist cut in.

                Nurse Felder lifted one eyebrow.  “Then you know, Doctor, that your place is in the waiting room, with your friends.”  She shot the pale–faced, auburn–haired man beside the angry ‘doctor’ a quick look.  “If you want to worry about someone,” she said softly, her voice low so only Peter heard her, “worry about your uninjured friends.  They need you now; your other friend is in good hands.”

                Peter looked at Ray and his face lost part of his determination to get to Egon.  “Yes,” he muttered, giving the nurse an apologetic smile.  “Sorry.”

                She returned the smile, closing the doors to the emergency room.  “Third door, left–hand side,” she repeated and gave Venkman a little, gentle push.

 

 

                The waiting room looked like all the waiting rooms Peter had sat in before.  It had greyish–white walls, which contrasted the orange plastic chair even more than necessary.  There were some old magazines and newspapers on the low table and pictures on the wall.  Ray sat on one of the chairs, staring at the grey floor, his thoughts miles away, while Winston, sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup, watched Peter, who paced the room, stopped now and then, and started his wanderings all over again.  It got on Winston’s nerves.

                “Peter!  Stop running around like a caged animal!” he exclaimed, startling Ray out of his thoughts and stopping Peter in mid–step.  The psychologist looked at him, slightly confused, then he continued the pacing.  “Hopeless,” Winston muttered.  Ray smiled humorlessly.

                All of a sudden the door to the waiting room opened and all three men turned immediately, but instead of the doctor they had hoped would appear to tell them news of Egon, Janine Melnitz entered.  She looked pale and frightened, and her hair was unruly as if she hadn’t found a brush today.  When she saw the three men, her face lost even more color.  Peter, Winston and Ray’s jumpsuits were still stained with dried blood—Peter’s even more than Ray’s or Winston’s—which they hadn’t been able to wash off.

                The psychologist had called her only an hour ago, telling her there had been an accident.  At the word ‘accident’ he had to bite his tongue not to say what had really happened.  A police officer had shot Egon!  It still enraged Peter just to think about it and he was glad no one from the police department had shown their face in here.  He’d give them his piece of the story soon enough.

                Janine had promised to come as quickly as possible, but the New York traffic had proven to be against her.  Now that she was here she didn’t really know what to do, but stare at her three employers and friends; then she walked over to Ray and Winston, who were closest.

                Zeddmore rose with a welcoming smile on his lips, which never reached his eyes.  “Thanks for coming, Janine,” he said softly.

                Ray couldn’t even manage a real smile as he looked up.  “Hi, Janine,” he said in a dull voice.

                “Hi, Ray,” she said and sat down beside him, squeezing his arm.  “How are you guys?”

                “We live,” Peter said bitterly and it made Janine look up from her scrutiny of Ray.

                Venkman was too pale for her liking and his face was devoid of all emotion, with only the green eyes sparkling with barely contained anger.  She knew that look, it spelled danger for anyone who tried to approach him.  Janine had learned to keep out of Peter’s way when he had that look and leave it to Egon to get the other man back on track.  Now there was no Egon to talk to Peter.  Egon was injured and in surgery right now.  She closed her eyes, wishing this was all only a nightmare and she could wake up and find the guys unhurt.  A hand squeezed her shoulder and when she opened her eyes she looked in the understanding ones of Ray.  The occultist was holding on, trying to give her with what little comfort he had to offer, she gave him a small smile.

                “What exactly happened?” she asked, her own voice hoarse.  “You said it was an accident.”

                “We were after a ghost,” Ray said, answering her question before Peter could.  “We split up and tried to corner it.”

                “It surprised Egon and me,” Peter put in, running a weary hand through his dark hair.  “I don’t know what really happened, just that this officer appeared and tried to shoot the ghost.  I was busy doing the same with my rifle and I only heard the shot and....”

                “Egon was shot by a police officer?” the red–haired secretary exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock.

                Peter nodded.  “Yes,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

                “God....”  She couldn’t understand it.

                “It was an accident,” Winston said softly.  “The officer didn’t see Egon behind the ghost.”

                “He shouldn’t have shot!” Peter snapped.  “The police know they can’t kill a ghost with bullets!”

                “So he overreacted, Peter.  It’s normal in such a situation.”  Zeddmore didn’t want Peter to fall back into his state of cold anger and rage.  It was dangerous, especially if he used those emotions to run on.

                “He shot Egon, Winston!  He shot him!  Egon might die!”

                Janine gasped, biting her lip.  She didn’t want to think about that now.  Egon wouldn’t die, he couldn’t die!

                “Peter!”  Winston’s voice held an seldom heard edge.

                The dark–haired man looked at him in surprise, then turned away and hit the wall with one fist, frustration showing in every movement.  He wanted to cry out in pain.  Why couldn’t that cop have shot him?  Why did it have to be Egon?  He turned around again, leaning against the wall, his eyes closed.

                That was when the door to the waiting room opened again, but only a woman, middle–aged, with copper colored hair and dressed in civilian clothes appeared.  She took the group in with one look, her eyes resting a second longer on Peter Venkman as if she felt the waves of anger emit from him.

                “I’m Lieutenant Amanda Walker,” she announced.  “From Internal Affairs of the police department.  I’d like to talk with you about the incident at the Howard Building.”

                At the mention of the rank of lieutenant and the ‘Internal Affairs Department’ Peter’s eyes became icily cold and hostile again.  “Incident?” he echoed.

                Lt. Walker turned to him, sizing him up.  “Yes,” she said neutrally.  “I’m in charge of the investigation concerning officer Kaufman’s firing of a weapon.  It’s routine to question those involved on how and why the officer fired his weapon in a situation that didn’t require it.”

                “Routine?”  There was no emotion whatsoever in the psychologist’s voice.  Someone who knew Peter Venkman would have recognized the tone of voice and changed his attitude or let the subject drop, but Lt. Walker didn’t know him, and she was investigating an accident concerning a civilian and an officer.

                “Yes.  Could you tell me from your point of view what happened?” she asked.

                “Your Officer Kaufman shot my best friend!  That’s what happened, Lt. Walker!  And I don’t like it when someone tells me that it’s just routine!  You wanna tell me that things like that happen every day, or what?”  Peter nearly yelled at the lieutenant.

                Winston decided to step in when he saw Walker’s grey eyes harden even more.  Her face held the same mask–like expression as Peter’s as she tried to keep her temper down.  “Lt. Walker?”  She turned.  “Winston Zeddmore,” the black man introduced himself and gave a her an open smile.  “I think I can tell you a few things, though I didn’t see everything.”  He motioned her over to the group of chairs farthest away from Peter, who followed them with icy green eyes.

                Amanda Walker understood that the other man was trying to diffuse the situation and played along.  She sat down opposite him and the other Ghostbuster, pulling out her notebook.

                “I’m gonna get a cup of coffee,” Peter announced and left the room.

                Winston sighed, following the retreating man with his eyes, then he concentrated on the lieutenant and told her what he knew about the accident involving the officer.  Ray put in what he knew, too, and Zeddmore was relieved that the younger man didn’t pull back inside himself.

                Lt. Walker listened to the explanations, now and then making notes.  “Thank you, Mr. Zeddmore, Dr. Stantz,” she said after the two Ghostbusters had finished.  “All I need now is a statement from your colleague.”

                “Uh, I don’t think that’s such good idea, Lieutenant.  Peter’s not exactly....”

                “I have seen and heard that, Mr. Zeddmore,” Walker said with a tight smile.  “But he’s the one who was closest to Dr. Spengler and he witnessed what happened from the beginning.”  The woman stood.  “I think I can handle a little outburst.”

                “Little outburst?” Winston muttered when she had gone off in search for Peter.  “Boy, is she in for a surprise.”

                Ray smiled a bit, then his face grew serious again.  “It’s been an awfully long time since Egon was taken into surgery, don’t you think?”

                The older man sighed, his thoughts returning to their injured friend.  “It takes time, Ray.  They wouldn’t want to hurry up and miss something.”

                The occultist nodded, his eyes once again fixed on the floor.  Janine, who had not moved from Ray’s side and represented something like a rock Ray could lean on—though she was as afraid as all of them—and patted the auburn haired man’s arm.  Winston heaved another sigh and settled back into his chair.  All they could do was wait—and hope Peter Venkman behaved long enough to tell the lieutenant the whole story before she arrested him.

 

***

 

                Peter had made it as far as the coffee machine without scaring more nurses than necessary with his dark face and icy stare.  Now he sipped at the hot, bitter tasting liquid, his mind reeling.  Again and again he replayed the scene in the corridor, again and again he heard the shot.  He really didn’t know what had happened, only that the officer had fired a shot at the ghost and accidentally hit Egon.

                ‘Accidentally’.   Peter grimaced.  Why had that man fired at the ghost in the first place?  He must have known that he couldn’t stop it like that and now Egon was paying for his mistake!  The sight of his friend, lying in his own blood, the thin face deathly pale, would remain with him for a long time.  He hit the wall with his fist again and again, anger burning up inside of him.

                “If you repeat that some more times you might end up with a cast,” a female voice said.

                Peter, expecting Lt. Walker, whirled around, but was faced with Nurse Felder.

                The large woman arched one eyebrow when she saw the hostile look.  “You wanna hit me instead, Dr. Venkman?  Might prevent you from getting a cast, but you’d definitely get a black eye.”  She smiled amiably.

                “No,” Peter muttered, staring at the coffee cup he held in the other hand.  “How’s Egon?”

                “I don’t know.  He’s still in surgery.  What are you doing here all on your own?  You should be with your friends in the waiting room.”

                “What are you?  Mom of everyone?”  The psychologist knew he was snapping again.  With a sigh he threw the cup in one of the waste bins.  “Sorry.”

                “I’m used to snapping patients and their friends, Dr. Venkman, and yes, most of the time I’m the Mom of everyone around here.”  The blond nurse still smiled.

                Peter returned the smile wearily, heaving a sigh.  “What are you doing here, nurse?”

                “I’m just on my way home.  End of shift.”  She eyed him closely.  “You don’t look too good.”

                The dark–haired Ghostbuster gave a snort of laughter.  “Uh–huh, tell me something new.”

                “What’s your problem, Dr. Venkman?”

                He looked up and frowned.  “What do you mean?  And you can call me Peter.  ‘Doctor Venkman’ is not how I feel right now.”

                Nurse Felder chuckled.  “C’mon, Peter.  Walk me to the door; maybe we can find you a nice wall there.  And you can call me Ruth.”  They walked slowly down the corridor.  “What I meant,” the nurse continued, “was: what is bugging you.  You don’t look like the typical demolition man of walls.”

                “I don’t get ample chances to show my talents,” Peter chuckled, growing serious when he looked into her dark eyes.  “No, it’s everything that has happened.  I mean, a cop shot my best friend!”

                “Things like that happen, Peter.  You would be surprised how many victims of accidental shootings or dumb mishaps I see every day.  Fire trucks hit private cars on the way to a fire, ambulances nearly overrun bikers or pedestrians, cops injure people in the line of duty.”

                “That cop should have been more careful!” Peter said hotly.

                “He’s only human ... just like you.  Have you ever thought about the danger you present, running around with a proton pack, firing particle streams, handling nuclear accelerators?”  Ruth lifted one eyebrow.

                Peter frowned.  “You know an awful lot about us, don’t you?”

                “I read a lot of magazines and newspapers.”  She grinned smugly.  “And I’m a fan of yours.”

                Normally that would have gotten Peter into full ‘fan–mode’, but now he only sighed.  “I can’t get it out of my system,” the psychologist confessed.  “Not yet anyway.  I need that anger, I think.”

                “It keeps you going, I understand, but you have to let go in time.  It won’t help either you or your friends if you keep getting angry like that.”

                “Did you take classes in psychology, nurse?” Peter asked in surprise, stopping in front of the elevator.

                “A few, yes.  Comes in handy with stubborn relatives and even more stubborn friends.”  Ruth Felder punched the appropriate button to call the elevator.  “Not to speak of even more stubborn psychologists who bust ghosts for a living.”

                Peter liked the nurse.  He smiled at her, but then he spotted Lt. Walker walking toward him and his smile faded into a cold mask.  Nurse Felder saw the change and glanced at the dark–haired woman coming closer.  She knew that trouble was about to break loose again and she knew that it wouldn’t do to let the two of them shout at each other in a hospital corridor.

                “Dr. Venkman,” the police lieutenant said, “I have a few questions you have to answer.”

                “I have to do no such thing,” Peter snarled.

                A strong hand clasped his shoulder, steering him toward a closed door.  “Dr. Venkman, behave,” the nurse said sternly.  “And if you can’t behave, don’t shout in a hospital corridor; use a room.”  With that she steered Peter toward a door, opened it and pushed him gently inside, then the blond woman turned and motioned Walker to get in, too.  “Now make up, you two.”  With that Ruth closed the door again and left.

                Lt. Walker was a bit surprised, but understood the nurse’s motives.  She looked at Peter Venkman, who had moved to the other side of the room, his arms crossed in front of his chest, staring at her with eyes that resembled green ice.  Peter, in turn, studied the woman closely.  She was good–looking, he had to confess, but her whole behavior was too professional and that which irritated Peter the most.  Egon had been shot and she had the nerve to ask questions about the incident!  Didn’t she see how it hurt just to think about it?  He didn’t want to recall the accident.

                “Dr. Venkman, I know it’s hard on you to remember the incident, but I need your statement.” The voice of the lieutenant was suddenly understanding and gentle.

                The psychologist looked at her in surprise, not ready to lower his guard yet.  “What do you wanna know?  That I heard a shot and then saw Egon lying in his own blood?”

                Amanda Walker sighed.  “Something like it, but a bit more precise.  I heard your colleagues’ stories and now I need yours to get the whole picture.  Officer Kaufman might have acted too fast and thoughtlessly, but it also could be that Dr. Spengler got in the way.”

                “He didn’t!  We were after the ghost we were called to bust by you, Lt. Walker.  You guys asked us for help, not the other way around!  We did our job!”

                “And so did officer Kaufman.  He was assigned to search the floors for people who were still trapped in the building.”  Walker tried to sound as reasonable and calm as humanly possible.

                “So why did he suddenly start shooting at the ghost?” Peter asked coldly.  “Everyone knows you can’t shoot a ghost with a gun.  He fired at it anyway and he knew that there were people there.  He shouldn’t have thought of firing a weapon in a corridor.”

                “From your point of view, you are right, Dr. Venkman.”  The woman rubbed her nose.  “Officer Kaufman is still new on the job and....”

                “A rookie?”  Peter couldn’t believe it.  Egon had been shot by a trigger–happy rookie cop?

                Walker interpreted the tone of voice correctly.  “Dr. Venkman, if we could return to the question at hand, please?  Tell me what happened from your point of view.”

                Peter’s frayed nerves were close to snapping, but he got himself under control.  Briskly he told the lieutenant what she wanted to know.

                “Thank you, Dr. Venkman,” she said, closing her notebook.  “You’ll hear from me again.”

                “I hope it’s somewhere around the next millennium,” the Ghostbuster muttered.

                Walker had been hard put by Venkman’s behavior and, even though she was used to stubborn people, the dark–haired man was worse than everyone she had encountered so far; and she had met a whole lot of different people, starting from wiseguy cops with extreme prejudice against female lieutenants, to lieutenants who didn’t want the ‘snoopers’ from Internal Affairs to mess up their precinct.  Now she turned to him, grey eyes pinning green ones.

                “Dr. Venkman,” she said in a dead calm voice.  “You do your job, I do mine.  I am very sorry for what has happened to your colleague, but right now no one can change it.  It happened.  It’s my job to handle that incident for the best of both parties involved and you are not helping in any way to lighten that burden.  I may be a police officer and right now your enemy, but I am also a human being and my nerves go only so far.  So if you will excuse me now, I’ll return to the precinct to get this case over with, and if you’re very lucky, you won’t hear from me again.”  With that Lt. Walker left the room, leaving a dumbstruck Peter Venkman behind.

 

***

 

                It was five hours after Egon had been wheeled into surgery that a doctor appeared in the waiting room.  Peter had returned to his friends after his encounter with Lt. Walker and from the way Winston looked at him, part of his little talk with the lieutenant had to be showing—quite plainly—but the black man didn’t ask any questions, just nodded, acknowledging his presence. When the door opened to let the man in the green surgery coat in they all stood up, looking expectantly at him.

                “I’m Dr. Lambert.  You are Dr. Spengler’s friends?” the man asked.  He was in his mid–forties, with greying hair.

                Winston introduced them all, then looked questioningly at the doctor.

                “We removed the bullet that hit Dr. Spengler,” Lambert explained.  “Luckily the damage the bullet did was repairable and he didn’t lose too much blood, to begin with.”

                “Meaning?” Ray asked in a tiny voice.

                “Meaning that he was brought here just in time and we did all we could for now.  He’s receiving transfusions and his chances are good, so we might move him from intensive care tomorrow.”

                “Can we see him?” Peter wanted to know.

                Dr. Lambert shook his head.  “He’s in intensive care right now and still under the influence of the anesthetics, and he receives heavy doses of painkillers to keep him from feeling his injury.  You can visit him tomorrow if he’s better.”

                Peter wanted to protest, wanted to yell at the too calm man to show him to the room Egon lay in, but a hand restrained him.  He turned, seeing Winston at his side.  The older man shook his head.

                “We’ll come back tomorrow,” Zeddmore told the doctor.

                Lambert nodded and left.

                Winston took Peter’s arm and gave him a little push.  “Come on, guys, let’s go home and get some sleep.”

                Venkman had no intention of leaving and pulled his arm out of his friend’s grasp, but Winston had expected resistance and his dark eyes fixed on Peter with serious threat in them.

                “We go home and get some sleep,” he repeated, looking only at Peter and seeing the psychologist surrender a bit.  His shoulders slumped and a lost expression replaced the mask that had been there for too long.

                Winston looked at Ray who was accompanied by Janine and seemed to take it as hard as Peter, maybe even harder.

                “Okay,” the black man said.  “Let’s get to Ecto and drive home.”  He turned to Janine.  “We’ll drop you off at your place, okay?”

                Janine nodded.  She had arrived by subway since her own car needed some repairs, which Winston had promised he’s do.  “Call me when you go and visit tomorrow.”

                “Sure.”

 

***

 

                Winston parked Ecto in its usual place and he and the others climbed out after he had cut the engine.  Ray looked utterly lost and very tired.  Peter didn’t look any better, but at the sight of Ray he slipped his mask back on, shoving his own feelings back where they wouldn’t get in the way for now.  He walked over to Ray and draped an arm around him.

                “C’mon, kid, let’s get you upstairs and into bed.  You look tired.”

                Ray shook his head wearily.  “No, I’m not tired.  Well, not tired enough to go to sleep,” he explained with a wry grin.  “I think I’ll just take a shower and get something to eat.”

                “Okay, then we’ll order a large pizza with everything—except anchovies, of course.”  Peter raised both eyebrows suggestively.  “Then we grab a good movie and then we get some sleep.”

                “Okay,” the younger man nodded and walked off toward the stairs, followed by the others.

                While Ray went on to the third floor to take a shower, Winston and Peter stayed on the second floor.  The dark–haired psychologist slumped down in one of the armchairs and rubbed his burning eyes.  He wasn’t tired, he was exhausted.  Emotionally exhausted.  Though he had blown off some steam when talking to Lt. Walker, he still felt agitated inside, wanting to slam his fist into the wall or throw something heavy and expensive through the room.

                “I think you could use some rest, too, Pete,” Winston said and sat down opposite.  “And a shower,” he added, wrinkling his nose at Venkman’s stained jumpsuit, though his own didn’t look much better.

                “We all could.” Peter sighed.  “It was a hard day.”

                “Yeah, it was.  How’d the interview with Lt. Walker go?” the black Ghostbuster asked what he had wanted to know since Peter had returned from his walk in the corridor.  He had restrained himself, not wanting to provoke another outburst.

                Peter grimaced.  “As expected, I think.  We barely avoided a fist fight.”

                Winston chuckled.  “Well, I expected you to get arrested, but it looks like you handled yourself better than I dared to hope.”

                The psychologist gave him a sour look.  “I think I was closer to an arrest than I knew, and to answer the next question: yes, I told the lieutenant everything she wanted to know.  She said she might get back to us for further questions.”

                “She’s a nice lady.  They could have sent some old stiff with no patience at all.”

                The other man leaned back in his chair.  “Yeah, lucky for us to get her,” he said sarcastically, then turned serious.  “I think I behaved like a jerk, Winston.  She’d have a right to arrest me for behaving like I did.”

                Winston raised an eyebrow.  “A confession coming from you?  Wow!  Somebody get me my notebook!”

                Peter stuck out his tongue.  Then he sighed.  “I was so worried about Egon—and I still am—but I had no right to treat anyone like I did.”  He shook his head wearily.

                “You reacted to a tense situation, Pete, and there’s no need to reproach yourself now.”  Winston stood and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.  “I’ll go call for a pizza, and you go get a shower.  Check on Ray that he hasn’t accidentally fall asleep in the shower, okay?”

                Peter stood, too, nodding.  “Okay.  And don’t forget: no anchovies.”

                “You got it, man.”

 

***

 

                When they arrived at the hospital the next morning, Dr. Lambert met them at reception.

                “I have just seen Dr. Spengler,” the doctor told them.  “He has to remain in intensive care for a few more days of observation, but we don’t expect any complications.”

                “So he’s fine?” Ray asked anxiously.

                Lambert nodded.  “He’s better.  The transfusions helped to stabilize him, but he’s still a bit disoriented and under heavy medication to reduce pain.  Don’t wear him out and don’t agitate him.  He might nod off in mid–conversation and I have to limit your visitation time.”

                “We’ll be careful,” Winston promised.

                “I’ll show you to his room.  Only two in at a time.”  The doctor walked them to a closed door, then left them alone.

                “C’mon and get in there,” Winston urged Peter and nodded toward the door.  “Janine and I can wait for a few minutes, can’t we?”

                Janine nodded.  “Sure.”

                Peter smiled and took Ray by the arm, pulling the hesitating occultist with him.  They entered the sterile room and stopped when they saw Egon.  The physicist lay on the single bed in the room, an IV on one arm and a heart monitor beside the bed.  His hair had been combed into an unfamiliar style and his glasses were folded on a table close by.  The blue eyes were closed and his face appeared thin and hollow.

                Venkman came slowly closer, Ray in tow.  “Egon?” he asked softly.

                Egon’s eyelids fluttered and he opened his eyes.  They were blurred and unfocused and he turned his head slightly toward the voice.  “Peter?” he whispered.

                Peter took his hand and squeezed it.  “Yeah, big guy.  Ray’s here, too.”

                “Hello, Egon,” Ray announced his presence.

                The psychologist took the glasses, unfolded them and placed them onto Egon’s nose so he could at least see something.  “Thanks,” the blond man said hoarsely.

                “How’d you feel?” Ray wanted to know, looking at his friend with big eyes.

                “Actually, I don’t feel a thing,” Egon answered truthfully, his voice thin and tired.

                “Must be the medication.  You gave us quite a scare.” Peter took hold of Egon’s hand again as if to reassure himself that the older man was still there, alive.

                “Sorry.”

                “Not your fault, okay?”  Serious green eyes looked at him.  Peter was obviously still scared, because he would never have left such an excuse by Egon go uncommented.

                “What happened?” Egon wanted to know.  “I don’t remember much, just that the ghost appeared and then there was this pain in my side.”  He glanced at Ray, then at Peter, waiting for an explanation.

                Venkman cleared his throat, but didn’t answer right away.  Egon fixed him with the sternest glance he could manage and the psychologist turned away.  “You got shot,” he said briskly.

                His older friend arched both eyebrows.  “Shot?” he repeated, his voice showing exhaustion, but not shock.  “By whom?”

                “Some rookie cop who thought he could kill a ghost!  Fired a weapon though he didn’t know if he endangered anyone!” Peter hissed, fighting the wave of anger that was rising inside of him anew.

                Egon tightened his hand around Peter’s, though his grip was very weak.  “I do not think he did it on purpose, Peter.”

                The dark–haired man wanted to snap an  answer but restrained himself with an effort.  “Maybe,” he muttered through clenched teeth, avoiding Egon’s eyes.

                Ray decided that this was enough.  “I’ll tell Janine she can come in.”  He turned to Egon.  “Dr. Lambert allowed only two people in at a time.”

                Egon nodded.  He looked cruelly tired and pale.

                “If it’s too much....” his younger friend started.

                “No, Ray.  Tell her to come in.”  The blond man smiled a bit.  “I won’t fall asleep right away.”

                “Get Winston in here, too,” Peter said.  “I....”  He shrugged and smiled at Egon apologetically.  “I think I need some time to cool off.  I’m sorry, Egon.”

                Egon knew that Peter’s temper was boiling again and that the psychologist needed some distance from the sight of him lying injured in a bed to calm down again.  He gave Peter an understanding look and his younger friend squeezed his hand, then letting go.

                When Winston and Janine had disappeared in the room and the door closed after them, Peter leaned against the wall, letting out a frustrated sigh.

                “Shit!” he whispered.  “Tell me I’m behaving like a complete idiot, Ray!  Lambert told us not to agitate Egon and here I am, blowing off steam all over again.”

                Ray shook his head.  “You didn’t agitate Egon.  He understood you, but you can’t go on blaming the police officer for the rest of your life.  It was an accident and everything went well.  Egon’s alive.”

                “He could be dead, Ray!  Maybe next time that rookie will kill someone, and maybe it’ll one of us or some innocent bystander!  If he’s trigger–happy, he should be relieved of duty!”

                “Peter, please, calm down,” Ray begged.  “I’m sure Lt. Walker will handle the case.”

                Before Peter could tell his friend what he thought about Lt. Walker handling the case, Winston and Janine entered the corridor.

                “He fell asleep,” Winston told the other two, then noticed Peter’s irate expression and knew what had happened.  “We should go home now.”

                “I’ll stay here,” Janine said immediately.  “Just in case, you know.”

                “Okay.  Ray, Pete, let’s go.”

 

***

 

                The call came in the evening, two days after Egon had been injured.  The three Ghostbusters had decided to take on easy busts, so that their business wouldn’t go into the red too much, and the bust they were called to sounded relatively easy.  With three proton streams Ray thought they would be able to trap a class–three easily.  The site of their bust was a closed–down industrial plant.  The watchman was the only one present when the converted ambulance arrived.

                “Thanks for responding so quickly,” the elderly man greeted them.

                “Where exactly did you see the ghost?” Ray asked immediately, pulling out his PKE  meter.

                “It’s in one of the storage facilities.  I heard it first when I made my first round for the night and I thought I had to be hallucinating, since in all the time I’ve been employed I’ve never seen or heard anything remotely like it.  But then I saw it later on.  It’s all green and nasty and it wrecked some of the old shelves and threw around what it could find.  I called the boss and he told me to call you.”

                “Okay.  Ray, what do you have?” Peter wanted to know.

                “Class–three, as I thought,” the occultist reported.  “And right now it’s over there.”  He pointed at a large warehouse.

                “That’s mostly empty, except for a few old parts used for manufacture,” the watchman explained.

                “You stay here,” Winston told him and the man nodded.  “We’ll take a look at your destructive visitor.”

 

***

 

                The warehouse was very large, but mostly empty and like the watchman had told them, there were a few high shelves with old machine parts on them.  In one corner close to the entrance sat a half finished machine of unknown function.

                “Anything?” Winston asked Ray, who was still fiddling with the PKE  meter.

                “I have a signal,” the occultist muttered, forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.

                “But?” Peter prodded, recognizing the tone.

                “But it’s blurred.  Sometimes it’s doubling and then it merges into one again.  Maybe the meter is faulty.”  He looked up and shrugged.

                “Let’s check it out,” the psychologist decided.

                They were halfway through the warehouse when there was a noise to the left.  All three men stopped, rifles ready.  Peter motioned Ray and Winston to take one side each and went on, while the others circled around.  Directly in front of them were two shelves.  Venkman looked over to Ray and the other man nodded, pointing at the left shelf.  The meter showed signals coming from there.  Peter nodded and closed the distance.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Winston do the same from the right side.

                Suddenly there was a roar and something big and green shot down the aisle between the shelves, directly toward Peter.  The dark–haired man let out a surprised yelp and dove to the floor to avoid colliding with the ghost.  Two proton streams followed the ghost’s path, but couldn’t catch it.

                “Wow!” Ray exclaimed.  “Did you see it?  It’s a full torso apparition!  Great!”

                Peter got his feet under him again and dusted off his uniform.  “Yeah, great, Ray.  Where’d it go?”

                The auburn–haired man consulted the meter, then ran off deeper into the warehouse.  Peter sighed and he and Winston followed.

                The second attack happened only minutes later.  The ghost appeared floating under the roof and now Peter got his first good look at it.  It wasn’t a beauty, with thin arms, claws and an ugly head with bulging eyes, and colored in green of all shades.  All three Ghostbusters fired immediately, but again the ghost escaped.  Peter cursed under his breath as he followed the specter and wished it would stop zigzagging around like crazy.  At last they cornered it and Ray and Winston trapped it in their proton streams. Venkman got the trap out and was prepared to throw it under the writhing ghost when Ray cried out in surprise, switching off his rifle.

                “Ray!”

                Something reddish passed over the two other men and Peter could distinguish a twin to their ghost, but that was unimportant right now.  He ran over to Ray, who sat on the ground, rubbing his head.

                “Ray!  Are you all right?”

                “Yeah,” the younger man muttered.  “Just knocked me over.”

                Peter checked Ray’s eyes, making sure they were equal.  Besides an already coloring bruise on the temple, he showed no other injuries.

                “Where’d the critter come from?” Zeddmore wanted to know.  “I thought there was only one.”

                “I don’t know, but it could be an explanation for the weird readings I got when we arrived.”  Ray tried to get up and the other two men helped him.

                “Two ghosts,” Peter moaned.  “I hope they don’t decide to multiply.”

                “Aw, it’s not that bad.  Neither of them is more than a class–three and we can catch them easily.”  Ray smiled.  “No problem.”

                “If you say so,” the psychologist said doubtfully, scanning the warehouse.  “I just wish we had more light in here.  It’s too dark to see well.”

                That was true.  It was getting dark outside and the lights in the warehouse didn’t work.  Winston pulled out a flashlight.  “We got these,” he said.

                The others took hold of theirs, too.  It didn’t make much difference, but they set off in search for the two ghosts again.

                “Left,” Ray whispered.

                Peter and Winston nodded, changing direction.  The red ghost appeared when they had gone a few steps toward where the reading was the strongest.  Both men reacted nearly simultaneously, firing their weapons and pinning the ghost in their containment streams.

                “Trap!” Venkman ordered.

                His auburn haired friend shoved a trap under the ghost and stomped on the trigger.  The small device opened and a blinding stream of light shot upward, enveloping the ghost and pulling it down.  Just before the trap’s doors closed, the second ghost attacked.

                “Ray!  Watch out!” Peter yelled, making a run for his younger friend.

                Peter shoved Ray out of the immediate path of the ghost.  The green specter screamed and lashed out with his claws.  Peter felt something cold scrape his forehead and was thrown back.  With a gasp he rolled around, aiming his thrower at the ghost which was now trying to gain height again.  Winston fired his thrower and was joined seconds later by Peter’s and Ray’s.  The ghost didn’t have a chance against three proton streams and was caught halfway between the floor and the ceiling.

                “Trap out!” Winston announced and threw his trap under the ghost.

                Peter blinked as something sticky started to cover his eyes, blinding him.  The entity disappeared in the containment field as fast as his red twin.  When the ghost was gone, Peter sagged, feeling dizzy and exhausted.  He touched his forehead and felt something wet and sticky there.  Pulling away his hand he found it was covered with blood.

                “Peter, you’re hurt!”

                Ray, half sitting, half lying close by, got up and came over.  Anxious eyes looked Peter over, staring in horror at the long cut on his forehead.  Winston came, too, pulling out his handkerchief and starting to mop away the blood.

                “He got you good, Pete,” the black man said, eyeing the cut, which went from Peter’s left temple over his forehead, disappearing into his hairline and barely missing his left eyebrow.  “We’ll get you to a doctor.  Looks like it needs stitching.”

                Peter took the handkerchief from Winston and pressed it to the wound himself, grimacing expressively.

                “Yes, that’ll be the best,” Ray said, getting up to help Winston pull Peter to his feet.

                The psychologist was a bit unsteady.  “I’m okay, guys,” he muttered, pulling away from their helping hands.  “It’s just a cut.”

                Winston knew that Peter hated doctors and hospitals, and even if the cut would have been a broken leg, Peter would have said the same to avoid getting hospitalized.

                “Yeah, it’s just a cut, but you will see a doctor, even if I have to drag you there,” Winston said and his tone left no room for arguments.

                Venkman sighed in defeat, knowing that Winston was perfectly capable of doing just that.

 

***

 

                The visit to the hospital was brief, but nonetheless a horror for Peter.  He hated the sterility of the whole building, the cleanly white walls and the smell of antiseptics.  The emergency room doctor cleaned the cut and applied three stitches to the worst area, then bandaged it and gave Peter instructions to take it easy.  It didn’t look like he had a concussion from the blow, but the moment his condition worsened he was to come in again.

                “Well, looks like you people use our facilities a lot.”  The female voice made Peter look around the emergency room.  He had just been about to hop down from the examination table and head back to his friends.

                “Nurse Felder?” he asked in surprise, looking at the blond woman.

                The heavily built nurse smiled at him.  “Hello, Dr. Venkman.  What did you do?  Demolishing the walls with your head now?”  She eyed his bandaged forehead.

                Peter smiled.  “Wasn’t even near a wall.  I had a run–in with a ghost.”

                “Quite a run–in, I suspect.”

                “Yeah, at least the police didn’t show up or you might have another shooting victim.”  The words were out before Peter could bite them off.

                The nurse ‘tsk–tsked’.  “Still on it, are we?  You’re a very single–minded person when it comes to blaming someone, Peter.”

                Peter heaved a sigh.  “Yeah, maybe.  Is that why you came here?  To see whether I’m still ready to smash my fist in the wall?”

                The nurse laughed.  “No, not exactly.  I know you are still quite capable of breaking your hand.  I just wanted to tell you that your friend Dr. Spengler is doing fine, and since visiting hours are over and you didn’t show up today—” Peter started to explain why they were unable to come, but Nurse Felder waved the explanation away.  “—I thought you might want to know how he’s doing.  I’m sure your friend Janine would have told you, too.”  The woman smiled.

                “Thanks,” Peter managed.

                “Well, don’t thank me.  Dr. Spengler is a very strong man and I’m sure he’ll be fine.  Now, go and get back to your friends.  They have enough to worry about without you being hospitalized for getting a blow on the head.”  She shooed him to the door.

                “I think I’ll adopt you as our private, worrying mom,” the psychologist muttered, grinning from ear to ear.

                “I heard that, young man.”

                Peter smiled and then got back to his two friends.

                “How are you, Peter?” Ray wanted to know, staring at the white bandage.

                “He’ll be fine, except for a massive headache tomorrow morning,” Nurse Felder said before Peter had a chance to speak.  “Just get him back home, keep him away from walls, and have aspirin ready.”

                “Uh, come again please?”  Winston was a bit baffled by the woman.

                Peter sighed dramatically.  “Will you get off my case?” he asked her.

                “Not as long as walls are in danger getting dented by you, Dr. Venkman.  Now get home ... and out of my hair.”

                “Yes, Ma’am.”  In a conspiratorial whisper, loud enough for Ruth Felder to hear it, Peter told Ray: “She loves me.  One of my greatest fans, in fact.”

                The nurse chuckled and shook her head.  “Concussion,” she said as professionally as she could muster.  “I think we have to admit you overnight.”

                “Uh, uh, no thanks.”  Peter pushed both Ray and Winston away from the nurse.  “See ya, Ruth.”

                “Who was that?” Ray wanted to know when they were on their way to Ecto–One.

                “Someone I know,” the psychologist evaded a direct answer.  “Now let’s drive home.  I think she was right about the headache—only that it’s starting now.”

 

***

 

  

  1. He had known that there was a ghost in the building, but he had reacted as if he had expected it to be a solid body that he could stop with a bullet.
  



                “I am positive that the officer didn’t shoot at me on purpose,”  Egon had told Winston on one visit.

                “Of course, Egon,” Winston had agreed, “but Peter’ll eat him alive if he ever sees him again.  Or Lt. Walker.”

                That had made Egon grin wryly.  “She paid me a visit this morning.  A very impressive woman, I have to confess.”

                “She was here?”

                “Yes.  She wanted to know what I could still remember.  Unfortunately it isn’t very much.  The ghost blocked my view to officer Kaufman’s position, but I think that that was exactly what she wanted to know.”

                “Uh–huh.”

                “She and Peter didn’t have a friendly start.”

                Winston had chuckled.  “Whatever gave you that idea, m’man?”

                Egon had smiled.  “The way she talked about him.  She asked me—unofficially—if Peter is always like that and how we could live with him.”

                “She really asked you that?”

                “Yes.  I explained to her that it must be the pressure Peter feels he is under.”  The blue eyes had suddenly been very serious.  “I hope he doesn’t blame himself for my predicament.”

                “No,” Winston had answered.  “He doesn’t blame himself for you getting shot, but he feels helpless because there’s no ghost to trash for it.  It was a human error and it’s a police matter.  He has no possibility whatsoever to get even with the one responsible.  He’s blowing off steam.”

                “And Lt. Walker is his main target.”  The blond physicist had frowned.  “It is not exactly advisable to alienate the police more than necessary.”

                “Exactly my thoughts, m’man.”  Winston had sighed.  “I hope he gets his act together soon or I’ll have to slap his head back into place.”

                That had made Egon smile.  “Maybe that is what he needs.”

 

***

 

                A few days after the that little conversation between Egon and Winston, the Ghostbusters returned from one of the harder jobs, catching two class–three’s to find Lt. Walker standing at Janine’s desk.  Peter’s face changed immediately from one of delight about the catch to one of hostility.

                “Lieutenant Walker,” he greeted the woman.

                “Dr. Venkman,” she said in the same tone of voice, her eyes coming to rest on the purplish bruise on the man’s forehead.  Though the stitches had been removed and the cut was healing nicely, it was still brightly visible.  “I have come to tell you that we closed the case.”

                “And?”

                “And nothing.”

                “What about that rookie cop?” Peter wanted to know.

                “Officer Kaufman was suspended from duty for the time of the investigation and is now restored to full duty.”

                Peter stared at her.  “You can’t be serious!  He nearly killed our friend and you let him loose again?”

                “Dr. Venkman,” Walker said with visibly strained patience, “Officer Kaufman reacted too fast, but there is no evidence that he did it on purpose.  He tried to defend himself against a possibly hostile entity.  Dr. Spengler was in an unlucky position at that time and could not be seen by Officer Kaufman.”

                The dark–haired man clenched his teeth not to yell at her.  “He – shot – at – a – ghost.”

                “We have been through this before, Dr. Venkman.  The case is closed and the department is sorry about what happened to Dr. Spengler.  We will handle the hospital bill and everything else.”

                Peter was close to an explosion.  Ray stepped in, smiling politely at Walker.  “Thanks, Lt. Walker.”

                Walker nodded and fixed Peter with a cold stare herself.  Then she walked out of Ghostbuster Central.  When she had disappeared, Winston turned to his friend.

                “I thought you’d finally gotten a hold on yourself concerning Lt. Walker, Pete.”

                Peter snorted and went over to the stairs.  “So I didn’t,” he snarled and walked upstairs.

                Ray looked troubled.  “If he keeps on alienating police lieutenants, we’ll be in big trouble one day.”

                “You can say that again.  First Frump, now Walker.  Looks like he’s starting a collection.”  Winston shrugged.  “I think when Egon’s home and fine again, Peter will get back to normal.”

                “I hope so,” the auburn–haired man muttered.

 

***

 

                Peter knew he had handled the situation like a jerk.  Lt. Walker was bound to rules and laws, and he was sure she had done her job well.  Kaufman hadn’t shot Egon on purpose; he had reacted to a threat and fired a shot, but the shot had hit Egon.  Okay, Egon was fine and he would be released from hospital in a few day, but still....

                The psychologist sat down on his bed and buried his head in his hands.  “Shit,” he muttered.  Like Winston downstairs, the thought of alienating police officers crossed his mind.  He had to make up with Walker soon or she’d be constantly on their case, like Frump, if he didn’t.  A glance at his clock told him it was only two p.m.  If he grabbed a quick shower and then headed to Walker’s precinct, he might be able to meet her there.  Maybe an invitation to dinner would give them the necessary peace and quiet to talk.  Yes, he’d do that.  With a smile he got up and went for the bathroom.

 

***

 

                Lt. Amanda Walker stuffed some papers in her briefcase, then closed it.  She knew it had been a mistake to go to Ghostbuster Central and tell the three men about the closed case; she should have called them.  Or better: let someone else call them.  Now she had had another dose of ‘Venkman’ and her blood pressure was up.  Damn that man!  Who did he think he was?  She had gone by the rules and investigated the case, that was her job, and she had come to the conclusion that Officer Kaufman had reacted in self–defense, unable to see Egon Spengler standing behind the ghost.  Walker had been with Internal Affairs long enough to tell the difference between a cop lying to protect himself and a cop being honest.  Kaufman had been honest.  He might be young and much too rash in pulling the trigger, but he had not seen Spengler, that she was sure of.  Spengler himself hadn’t seen the officer because the ghost was solid enough to hide another person behind its body.  Taking her coat the female investigator went to the door.  Said door opened all of a sudden and she came face to face with Dr. Peter Venkman.  Lt. Walker stopped in her tracks, surprise written all over her face.

                “Dr. Venkman?” she asked when she finally got over her surprise.  Her eyes narrowed on his bruised forehead again.  “What the hell happened to you?  Insulted a cop and got a slap on the head in return?”

                The Ghostbuster stepped inside the office cubicle.  “Clawed at by a ghost that I didn’t insult but which still  didn’t like.”

                “Wonder why,” the lieutenant muttered.  “Why have you come here?  To yell at me again?”

                “I want to tell you that I’m sorry,” Venkman looked a bit ashamed.  That made Walker blink.

                “Sorry?” she echoed.  That was something she had been completely unprepared for: Venkman apologizing!

                He shrugged.  “Something just snapped inside of me and you were the first available target.  Normally it’s Egon who gets it full in the face, but now....”

                “Now your friend’s in the hospital and I was the first available substitute.  Understood, Dr. Venkman, but now that you have apologized, would you mind moving away from the door?”  She raised both eyebrows.  “I’m finished here and tomorrow is another hard day with another possibly complicated job.”

                “With another possible jerk or wiseguy.”  The dark–haired man smiled, but did as he was asked.

                “Yes, that, too.”  There was amusement in Amanda Walker’s voice.

                When she reached for the doorknob Venkman cleared his throat.  “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”  At her astonished look, he grinned charmingly.

                “Bribing of police officers is punishable by the law,” the lieutenant said with a neutral look on her face, but she found herself reacting to that overdose of charm the Ghostbuster was throwing her way.

                For a second the dark–haired man looked like he would snap again, but then he only said: “Okay, then let’s wait till you’re off duty and go to dinner then.”

                Amanda allowed herself a real smile.  “I am off duty, Dr. Venkman.  What did you have in mind?”

                “Italian?”

                “Fine with me.”  She opened the door and they left the building.

 

***

 

                Two weeks after the incident Egon Spengler was released from the hospital.  The orders of Dr. Lambert had been very strict: no work at all, a lot of rest, no sudden movements.  The other three Ghostbusters had vowed to take good care of their colleague and Lambert had told his patient to come back in a week so he could check him.

                Now the blond physicist sat on the couch, his feet propped up on the table, reading a book.  He would have liked to work on some experiment in his lab, but when he had climbed the stairs—very slowly and carefully—he had found a note attached to the lab’s door saying, ‘If you dare open this door and work on whatever gizmo you plan to, I’m gonna send Slimer in there after you with a list of hidden sweets.’ Egon had smiled at that note—obviously from Peter—and returned downstairs with some books he wanted to read.  Ray sat at his side, watching television, the volume turned down so it didn’t disturb him.  He kept close to Egon in case his friend needed something, but mostly to make sure he didn’t faint or start to feel ill.  Egon had given up on reassuring Ray that he was just fine.  In fact, he found the presence of his younger friend reassuring himself.  The blond wasn’t in pain as long as he didn’t move too abruptly or try to lift heavy things.  The doctors had prescribed painkillers and Dr. Lambert had told him that the stitches would be removed next week.  He’d have to wait another week to get back to light work though.

                Peter had calmed down significantly since Egon was home.  The mention of officer Kaufman or the incident no longer provoked angry sparks in his eyes or sudden outbursts.  Egon was glad that the psychologist had finally settled down.  They had had a long talk about what had happened, and  Egon didn’t blame anyone.  It had been an accident, nothing else.  Peter, in turn, had blamed all and everything on Kaufman, but he had finally admitted that he was partially wrong, and it also seemed like he had made up with Lt. Walker.  Both had met a few times in the last weeks and Egon wasn’t exactly sure whether there was romance in the air or not.  He couldn’t quite picture Peter and Lt. Walker together since both had the same tendency to hide behind professional masks, but maybe this was what had attracted them.

                The physicist smiled.  Peter and a cop.  Well, that was something new.  At least it kept Walker on their side—if Peter behaved.  As if on that thought Peter came down the stairs, dressed for a date, Egon noted.

                “Going out?” Ray wanted to know.

                The dark–haired man smiled.  “Yes.”

                “Lt. Walker?” the occultist prodded curiously.

                “Nope, Ruth Felder.”

                That made the two men blink.  “Nurse Ruth Felder?” Egon asked in surprise.

                “Nurse Ruth Felder,” Peter confirmed.  “I owe her an intact hand and my head.  Dinner and a movie should be a good advance payment.”

                The blond physicist smiled.  He had been told by the others how Peter had tried to mistreat innocent hospital walls, and he had heard about Nurse Felder, too.  She had seen after him once, but he hadn’t known her then.  After Ray and Winston had given him a brief summary of their bust and what had taken place in the hospital, he had wished he could see the nurse again, but she hadn’t shown up.  That Peter was asking her out for dinner and a movie was not surprising.  Peter was that kind of man, though he never showed it.  His interest in Ruth Felder had nothing to do with her womanly charms, since she was old enough to be his mother; he was simply thankful and she must have gotten closer to him than Peter had noticed.

                “Have fun,” Ray called.

                “Will do.”  With that Peter disappeared downstairs.

                Egon put the book aside and decided to watch the movie with Ray.  The occultist noticed  and turned up the volume.

                “Think he’s back to normal now?” Ray wanted to know.

                “What do you define as ‘normal’ for Peter Venkman?” the physicist asked with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

                The auburn–haired man chuckled.  “I think he’s back to his old self again.”

                “Definitely.”


End file.
